Begonya Pozo

Begonya Pozo was born in Valencia in 1974. She writes in both Spanish (Castilian) and Catalan (Valencian). She has published two books of poems in Castilian, El muro de la noche [The Wall of Night], 2000, and Tiempo de sal [Time of Salt], 2004. Many of her poems in Valencian have appeared in anthologies, magazines and on the web in Castilian translation by Antonio Méndez Rubio, Carlos Jiménez Arribas i José Luis Falcó. In 2010, her third book, in Valencian, Poemes a la intempèrie [Poems in Stormy Weather],was awarded the Senyoriu d’Ausiàs March de Beniarjó poetry prize.

Begonya Pozo’s first degree was in Hispanic and Italian Philology at the University of Valencia, where she also obtained her doctorate on the Valencian poet César Simon. Since 1998 she has taught in the Italian Department at the same university. Her research interests centre on comparative literature, especially Italian, Catalan and Spanish poetry. She is Director of the Aula de Poesía in Valencia, which she co-founded with the poet Vicent Alonso in 2002. Since 2004, she has also directed the Valencian-language poetry workshop at the Polytechnic University of Valencia (UPV).

Each Time

It’s hard, surviving you.
Each time I go back to you
your house is filled with other lives
that aren’t yours any more –
each time I look up from the street
at your windows on the second floor, hoping
to see that light of yours
that lit up my small world –
feeling like a useless voyeur each time
because long ago I lost the only thing
I longed to see –
each time I walk along the pavement
unable to slow down
because stopping would be like
losing you all over again.
Surviving you is hard
each time I slowly climb the stairs
that’ll never lead me to your door again;
each time I know you’ll never
lean on the banister, waiting
for me, the guardian of time and rubble.
Each time – write it –
it’s harder to survive you.

(from Poemes a la intempèrie, 2010)

The Wall

It appeared out of nowhere –
in front of frightened hands
a strange wall made of glass,
a disconsolate wall,
as decisive as the light
of an April noon.
Everything had been prepared.
Everything was ready
on the other side of the wall:
the grass the dog the cows
the house and the car.
Alone,
committed only
to her conscience, she sat down
and stared at the wall
of glass: punctual,
disconsolate, final.

(from Poemes a la intempèrie, 2010)

Ghosts

San Gimignano, 1994

That music was the trace of the mystery that haunted the
towers. It’s taken you fifteen years to unravel the pain of
the wind; it’s taken you fifteen years to resolve yourself.
You’re still not sure if that distant morning was real. Was it
really her who played on the strings of that violin?

(2009)

A Different Grey

Milan, 2000
to Vicent Alonso

You don’t like a grey with no personality, any old grey,
humid and sad. You prefer Milanese grey. That’s the grey of
a special time, a time submerged in the bowels of sleepless
nights, bound to the slavery of orange cubicles and cafés in
the rain. It’s raining in the garden. A grey sky, Milanese
grey, kisses your face.